


Sultry

by selwyn



Category: Naruto
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 15:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17728121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: The heat put Madara in strange moods. It made him insatiable, irrepressible.





	Sultry

Summer descended on Konoha like a sweltering fever, bringing with it an immutable kind of humidity that hung, mist-like, off of everything.

In this sultry season, Madara normally pushed Hashirama away. It was just too hot to be pressed up against another person – he easily overheated, just as he easily became too cold – and Hashirama was a furnace at night. But for some reason tonight, he was possessed by a devil that made him press closer.

“Madara…” Hashirama groaned when he drew flush against his back. It was too hot to be this touchy. They stuck to one another. Even in the cooler parts of his house, away from the sun and surrounded by water, it felt stifling.

Madara wasn’t deterred. He stuck in his face in the back of Hashirama’s neck and kissed him lazily. Hashirama didn’t stop him, hoping that Madara would eventually be disgusted by the heat and slink off.

Instead, he felt his hands squeeze his shoulder, then begin to wander down his arms and sides, aiming for his hips.

God. Sometimes, Hashirama thought he finally understood Madara’s capricious head, and then he went and did something completely new. It wasn’t that he disliked it – never! – but it made it impossible to fully predict what he actually _wanted_.

Hashirama rolled over laboriously, grimacing the feeling of his hair sticking to his sweating neck, and cracked open an eye to look at his lover. “We’re supposed to be sleeping,” he complained, not entirely sincere. Madara rolled his eyes.

“Don’t move,” he told him. He swung his leg over him and straddled Hashirama, as easy as breathing.

Hashirama grunted as his weight settled on his middle, but he didn’t say anything. Automatically, he put his hand on his thighs, watching him through half-shut eyes. There was a slight stirring in his gut, mildly intrigued by whatever bug that had bitten Madara, but still. Too hot.

Hashirama wasn’t wearing anything to sleep. Madara pressed his hands against his chest and his face was becoming intent, focused. Like an arrow pointed at one thing and one thing only.

It was hard not to feel flattered in the face of such attention. It was even harder when Madara always got that face whenever he got touchy. Hashirama preened a little, just a little, under his eyes as Madara’s hands roamed over his chest, his sides. He’d never had any insecurities about his looks but if he had any, he was pretty sure Madara would have banished them.

He slowly slid his hands up Madara’s thighs, appreciating the thick muscles in them, then fitted his hands on his hips. Hashirama liked the way Madara fit in his hands – not too small, like women were. Just right, with enough resistance. Madara rocked his hips leisurely, grinding down on him, and alright, Hashirama was a little more awake now. He bit his lip, cursing Madara’s habit of covering himself all the time, even to bed. Who wore a yukata in this kind of summer? Only Madara.

“Maybe we could –“ he began. He shut up immediately when Madara pressed his finger to his lips. He was smiling as he did so, coy as a fox, and the vague heat in Hashirama roared into fiery existence. Madara wasn’t always teasing; mostly, he was direct. But when the mood struck…

Hashirama held his hips tighter, pushing up against him, his guts clenching as his cock rubbed against Madara’s ass. He had half a mind to just turn them over and fuck Madara breathless, but he also wanted to see how this would progress.

Madara’s head rolled backwards, clearly absorbed in his own world while he drove hypnotic patterns of gritty arousal through Hashirama. His hand slipped down his chest and lazily undid his yukata’s tie. It fell open immediately, but he didn’t pull it off. On the contrary – Madara ran his hand over the hard planes of his stomach, over the sharp cut of his hip, and fisted his cock easily. He stroked himself slowly, drawing his pleasure out, and Hashirama watched him, entranced.

He wanted to draw up and kiss him, or maybe nip the tempting line of his flushed neck. Madara was practically decadent tonight, suspended in the drowsy summer haze, grinding on his cock, lazily pleasuring himself, like he had all the time in the world.

Sometimes, Hashirama had to marvel at the contrasts in him. Madara could blush like a virgin over a few compliments, then be this casually obscene. He was impossible to pin down. It was like he was always chasing this man, even now.

Madara made a show of his pleasure, his body flexing and pushing without any hesitation, any strain, that made Hashirama groan. He definitely wasn’t sleepy anymore, with Madara moving like this, the fabric of his yukata rubbing against his erection. It slipped further down his shoulders until it pooled around his elbows and it was absolutely maddening, the sight of him not quite naked, like a half-unwrapped present.

Madara’s head lolled forward again. His dark hair stuck to his face a little. Caught on the seam of his lips. Madara made eye contact with him as he moaned, a long, dark sound that rumbled as it rolled out. His cheeks were flushed from the heat, and the redness crawled down his neck to his chest and shone in the soft darkness.

Time stretched out as Hashirama watched Madara play this little game. He wanted to touch, but he wanted the show too. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from fixating on the way Madara licked his lips until they were glistening, or the way his cock head dragged wetly against his backside with only thin cotton separating them. He pictured sitting up and dragging Madara onto his fingers, imagined his face twisting sweetly as he sunk his fingers into his tight heat. He knew all the ways to make Madara writhe with just his hands. He could hold him down with his weight until Madara asked to be fucked.

Madara said nothing when he squeezed his thigh, but his gaze was knowing. Redness flickered in their blackness.

He stroked himself more, his grip tightening. He’d always liked a rougher touch, Hashirama remembered, wanted to be squeezed until he was panting. With a final twist of his hand near the tip, Madara came with a gasp. Hashirama watched him avidly. Madara made the most intense faces when he was gripped by ecstasy, furrowing his brows and clenching his teeth like he was in agony instead.

His come spattered against Hashirama’s chest. Madara’s mouth curved up when he looked down at him, and he continued to stare as he raised his hand and slowly licked the bit that’d gotten on his palm. Hashirama recalled countless times he’d had his mouth wrapped around his cock instead, sucking and lapping at him eagerly, begging without words to have his throat wrecked until his voice was raw.

It took a few moments for Madara to come to. He moved leisurely, made lazy by satisfaction, and he was drawing it out, pushing the edges of Hashirama’s anticipation as far as it would go just because he could. There was something to that. Something about ownership, about being able to do this.

Madara  adjusted himself, folding his knees under his body to rise up. He pulled his yukata down slowly, the sleeves clinging to his long arms, and he threw it away once it was off. Hashirama shivered as his cock rubbed against the smooth skin of Madara’s inner thigh, where he was still unscarred and the skin was softer.

 Madara reached back to grip his cock. His hand was still slick from his own come, and he stroked him, his touch greedy as he ran his fingers from base to tip. Hashirama’s breath wavered a little right then, as Madara watched his face.

Finally, he angled them so that the tip pressed against him, where he was still slick from before. He didn’t push down immediately. Instead, he lingered until Hashirama’s hand tightened on his leg, and only then did he pull down against him. He smiled as he did so, pleased with himself.

There were days Madara couldn’t wait to have him inside him. He spat and cursed his way through it, then snarled in his ear when he finally got what he wanted. This was different.

Now, Madara was slow, his knees pressed wide around his hips, enjoying the hot stretch as he took him in by millimeters. It was hard not to grab him and force him down, but Hashirama bit the inside of his cheek and held on. Like this, he could feel the way Madara opened up for him, the way he shuddered with every bit he took. Madara stopped halfway just to breathe, his eyes now closed, and with his free hand, he pushed his hair away from his face.

Hashirama grabbed him with both hands when he continued. The pace was brutal in its snail’s pace, a pleasure that was drawn out like a stretched wire until he felt it in his teeth, a calamitous kind of need that burned his senses white-hot.

After what felt like hours, Madara was seated against him. It was a sweet, scorching second that was quickly swept aside as Madara leaned back to brace himself against Hashirama’s legs. It was another showy moment, something that pulled all his muscles into stark definition as he rolled his hips and made Hashirama’s head swim from the overload.

He wanted to follow the lines of his chest with his tongue but Madara was moving now, all raw energy, like a filthy fantasy brought to blazing life. Hashirama saw it when he found his prostate, when Madara’s eyes snapped open and pleasure flashed across his face. He pulled in a gasp that transformed into a ragged moan as Madara ground down harder, his knuckles white where he held onto him.

Hashirama wished he had the Sharingan, just so he could use it to memorize this. He slid his hand up Madara’s waist, catching his attention again. Madara grabbed his hand and squeezed briefly, giving him another smile that was unlike all the others before, something with so much affection that Hashirama felt himself smile back, fondness blooming in his chest.

Then Madara clenched around him in a way that knocked him breathless, and Hashirama forgot rational thought for a moment. He canted his hips up and watched the way Madara’s mouth fell open in reaction, red and wet.

Getting a good grip on his waist, Hashirama angled for the spot that made Madara jerk against him, gasping tightly with each thrust. Then he grabbed his hair and used it to pull down Madara for a kiss. Their breaths mingled, sticky skin on skin, and Hashirama kissed him dizzily until his lungs burned.

When their lips finally parted, Madara drew back and Hashirama was thunderstruck. There was a faint sheen on his forehead and his hair was even wilder than usual, curling slightly in the heat. His gaze was sharp enough to cut, and something vast lurked in them, an immensity of emotion that still startled Hashirama. Madara looked _good,_ fierce and closer than anything, and he leaned forward to kiss him again.

Hashirama followed him when he pulled back, winning a low chuckle from Madara as he sucked his bottom lip teasingly before pushing him down.

Hashirama didn’t know that it was possible to be this hard – every inch of him was on liquid fire and every little move from Madara was a hot stroke. Madara was merciless as he rode him, his hands splayed over his chest, his hair falling down his shoulders and arms as he drove him into himself over and over again. The sound from their bodies moving together was filthy, Madara dropping his composure and just cursing and snapping out in his name in short, bitten out syllables. Hashirama thought he might lose it as he watched Madara furrow his brows, his mouth growing tight, as he thrust down on him, gasping every time he got the angle right.

It took him right to edge. Hashirama squeezed Madara until he felt his bones creak, and he loved it, loved the way he could touch Madara and not be worried about breaking him in half. The pleasurable whine that escaped Madara when he did was the impetus – his leg tightened, all the muscles tensing, an he came with a hoarse cry.

Madara didn’t move off of him. Instead, he rode out his orgasm, rocking his hips, all his slick, hot skin wrapped around him and clenching tight around his overstimulated nerves in a way that threatened to make his vision black out. Hashirama curled a little, his head bowing forward as he pumped everything he had into his clutching heat, and Madara still refused to give him any reprieve.

“Madara –” he groaned, digging his fingers into his hip, but Madara just snapped his hips down on him in a way that put him flat on his back. He was strung tight and throbbing, aware of every inch of Madara’s skin pressed against his, and he stared up at him as he squeezed him dry.

It didn’t take much for him to push Hashirama over his threshold. His control was weakest when he was preoccupied, and it was impossible to deny him what he wanted anyway. Chakra unfurled from him in thick waves as Hashirama grabbed the sheets with both hands, his chest heaving as white sparks flew across his eyes. Branches forced their way through the floorboards. Flowers blossomed between his fingers, their delicate stems curling over his knuckles, and one of the screens doors splintered as a sapling tree grew there.

Hashirama closed his eyes and breathed as he tried to calm his racing heart. In the meantime, Madara collapsed forward. For a minute, there was only silence and their heavy breathing. They were both sticky with sweat and come, and the heat was now more oppressive than ever, so thick that the air had resistance. But Madara didn’t move and Hashirama was unwilling to push him away. He put his hand on his back and ignored the way his coarse hair poked him in the face when he kissed him on the forehead.

“You know I’m gonna have to fix this,” he said as his head dropped back. He had pollen stains on his hands. Some of the gnarled branches around them creaked under their own weight.

“Mmph,” was Madara’s articulate reply.

Hashirama huffed a small laugh and he closed his eyes. No doubt in a few seconds, Madara would register their tacky skin and sweat-soaked bedsheets, and drag him to the bathroom for a bath. Right now though, Hashirama just absently petted his hair as Madara curled their fingers together.

Despite the heat and the destruction, they both fell asleep in that position.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a comment-based life form. The more feedback I get, the faster I update and create new content. So leave something below <3


End file.
